


Sculpted

by elynne



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Art, Dragons, F/M, Gen, first draft really, ice flight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynne/pseuds/elynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A legend set in the world of Flight Rising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sculpted

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the "Sculpted" skin from the Ice Flight's festival--the only one I found, and the best, in my opinion. this is also the bio of the dragon who wears that skin.

A hundred generations ago, the most talented sculptor in the world was a Pearlcatcher who lived in the Ice flight. His skills were famous, but what he created was jealously guarded by the others in his flight, priceless treasures to add to the Icewarden's collection. For his part, he was content to create, always improving his work, striving for perfection. Dragons came from all other parts of the world to see his work; since he lived a solitary life on the Frigid Floes, it was not difficult for Wind or Water dragons to spy on his efforts, and he simply ignored all visitors, rather than taking time away from his art to chase them off. As soon as a piece was completed, he would send a message to the Icewarden, whose servants would come and carry the creation away, never to be seen again outside the Fortress of Ends.

One day, as he was working, something caught his attention. He was being watched--not in itself anything unusual, as he was generally oblivious to his audience. But something--a flash of a feather, the perfect curve of a neck or tail--demanded his focus. He looked up to see a female Wildclaw perched on a crest of ice above him. 

Suddenly, he knew: the perfection he had been seeking all his life was standing before him. His tools dropped from his claws, his work forgotten, as he stood up and then took wing to land beside her. Though he was a master at sculpture, he had no practice with speech, and his words stumbled over each other as he tried to introduce himself. But she found him charming, and soon they were chatting easily. She was from the Wind flight, traveling around the lands the way Wind dragons do, meeting people and having adventures. He had never left the icy lands of his hatching, and he was fascinated by her tales. 

They struck up a freindship, her visiting him almost every day. They talked for hours, or explored the snowy hills around his solitary weyr, hunting and playing together. Soon she was living in his cave, evidently forgetting her mission to explore the world. For his part, he never finished that last sculpture, or started work on another one. He had found his perfection, and the void that had gnawed at him, driving him to his art, was finally filled. 

After some time had passed with no messages or new sculptures, the Icewarden's servants came to investigate. When they learned of the situation, they immediately turned on the Wind dragon who, to their mind, was keeping their flight member from contributing to his flight. He tried to intervene, but he was no warrior; and she knew that, though she could fight them, she would draw all of the Ice flight's ire down on them if she did. Instead she flew off, calling for the artist to come find her in Windsinger's domain. He would have flown after her then and there, but the servants held him down until they could find chains. They shackled him into his weyr, brought him sculpting supplies and food, and set a guard to watch him constantly.

At first, the sculptor despaired. For long days and weeks he sat, staring at the rocks of the cave, only eating under threats from his guardians, making no move to his materials. But then, slowly, he seemed to wake up. He was angry, but they were expecting that. He demanded a huge block of the purest, clearest ice be delivered to his cavern. Once it was brought, he set to work, ignoring the guards as thoroughly as he had once ignored the other visitors that had watched him. He labored over the sculpture ceaselessly, again only eating when threatened by the guards, only sleeping when he could no longer hold his tools. The subject of his labor came as no surprise--he was recreating his lost friend from the Wind clan, in painstaking detail, represented in life as perfectly as she had first appeared to him. He even talked to it, at every step of its creation--whispering so quietly that the guards couldn't hear what he was saying, but they decided it was harmless, and so ignored his words.

Finally, in the endless dark of a frozen winter night, the statue was completed. The artist spoke some final words to his creation, and then kissed it on the forehead. As he did, a sigil flared, shining a brilliant, piercing white in the darkness. Exhausted, unable to keep himself aloft, he fell towards the rocky cave floor--but he was caught gently, in a pair of icy arms. 

Before the guards could react, the statue had snapped the chain that connected him to the wall. It--she--held him carefully and advanced towards them. The guards tried to fight her, but she could not be harmed; their teeth and claws had no effect on the solid ice of her form. For her part, she was holding her creator with her forearms, but her teeth and hind claws that Wildclaws were named for were unhindered. The guards were forced to retreat, and she emerged from the cave, then launched into the air, carrying the sculptor away with such speed that her flight looked like a comet's streak across the inky sky. 

Here, the story ends. It is unknown whether the sculptor ever found his exploring companion, or their fates; if the servants of the Icewarden hunted them, if they fled or were caught. All that is known is that to this day, a Wildclaw seemingly made of pure, clear ice can be occasionally glimpsed among the snowy hills of the Ice flight's domain, stalking the frozen plains, or patrolling the frigid skies.

**Author's Note:**

> a very, very rough first draft. maybe someday I'll go through and fix it up.


End file.
